


Passenger

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Sapphire and Steel
Genre: 500 prompts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steel and Jet need to get somewhere in a hurry. Steel has the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passenger

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a '500 Prompts' meme. Prompt 179, from [lost_spook](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook): "Should release but just tighten my grip — Steel/Jet"

"Well?" Steel asked. 

Jet didn't take her eyes off the wall. The bricks on which her hands rested still looked newer than those that made up the rest of the wall, but the difference was already less marked than before. Graffiti squirmed across the brickwork, fading to match the indecipherable glyphs chalked on adjacent bricks. 

"It'll hold," she said. "For the next fifteen minutes, at least." 

"Then we've got fifteen minutes to get to the golf club and do the same correction there. If not, we're back where we started." 

Jet, finally, let go of the wall and stood up. "You know what it reminds me of?" she said. "One of those weather houses, with a man and a woman. Push one in, the other pops out." She cocked her head, as if listening, and her expression became serious. "Just one problem." 

"What?" 

"We've got to get there as humans would. No teleportation. It might cause further damage." 

"Fine," Steel said. "Come with me." 

Without hesitation, he strode off toward the entrance of the alleyway. Jet hurried along behind him, grateful that the fashion was for clothes that allowed free movement. A decade before, she'd have been in an ankle-length dress that allowed nothing faster than a demure shuffle. 

She emerged from the alleyway, and spotted Steel in a car park across the road. He was bent over a device of some kind, a rickety-looking contraption with two wheels. 

"What do you call that, then?" she asked. 

"A Birmingham Small Arms Deluxe," Steel said, not looking up from his examination of the motorcycle. 

"And you can ride one?" 

Steel looked up briefly. "I don't see why not. It's a simple enough machine. And we can't do it on foot in the time. You'd better change." 

Sparing a brief moment of regret for her flapper dress, Jet concentrated. The dress rippled, distorted, and became a set of midnight-black motorcycling leathers. 

"Done," she said. 

"Get on the back." Steel, whose understated suit had undergone a similar metamorphosis, climbed onto the motorcycle and pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes. "And hang on tight." 

Jet hopped nimbly onto the pillion, and caught onto Steel. "Ready when you are," she said. 

Steel made no outward movement, but the bike's engine roared into life. Wobbling somewhat from side to side, the motorcycle accelerated out of the car park, cutting across the road inches from a passing car. 

The noise of the engine made normal conversation impossible, but of course that wasn't a problem for Elements. 

_Steel, are you **sure** you know what you're doing?_

_I told you, the mechanism is quite simple._

The motorbike plunged between a Sentinel lorry and a saloon car, with a margin for error of less than a millimetre. From somewhere behind them came the squeal of brakes and the blare of a horn. 

_It's not the physics I'm thinking about. Humans must have conventions for doing this: are you sure you're following them?_

_If you see me doing anything obviously wrong, let me know._ Steel swerved around a brewer's dray, its horses shying at the roar of the motorcycle engine. 

_All the other vehicles are carrying lights._

_They're unneccessary. I know where we're going and what to avoid._

Tension was beginning to enter the tone, for want of a better word, of Jet's thought. _But no-one else can see where **we** are, can they?_

_If it makes you happier..._

The motorcycle's lamps snapped on. Jet supposed it was an improvement; rather than zooming between vague blurs, she could now identify each and every vehicle that they dodged by inches or forced to swerve out of their way. Then Steel swung the bike to the left, leaning so far over that Jet's knee nearly grazed the asphalt, and headed up a rough, unmetalled track. 

_What are you doing? This isn't the way to the golf club!_

_It's more direct._

Jet redoubled her grip on Steel, to the point where, had he been human, he might have been at risk of cracked ribs. The motorbike bounced through ruts, sending up splashes of water, then briefly left the ground altogether. As it returned to earth with a spine-shuddering thump, Jet caught a glimpse of a flag in the distance, surrounded by an area of greensward -- presumably part of the golf course. It seemed to be right in the direction they were heading. Then a mass of twigs and leaves loomed up ahead, blocking the flag from view. 

_Steel, we're going to hit that hedge!_

_It's not that substantial, approached correctly._

The sound of rending timber was briefly audible over the roar of the engine, and branches whipped at Jet's arms and legs. Then the flag was once more visible, at the summit of a low rise. Jet just had the time to make out the hole at its base before they were past it and hurtling down the fairway. At its far end, the clubhouse rapidly grew from a distant point of light to a large, impressive building, its windows illuminated. As the motorbike approached it, not reducing its speed in the slightest, Jet could see a small crowd had gathered, doubtless drawn by the din of their approach. Now they were diving for cover. 

At the last possible moment, Steel brought the motorcycle to a halt, turning it in a tight circle that ended in a skid. Lumps of turf flew out in all directions, and the bike finally came to rest on what had, a few moments before, been the twelfth green. Again without moving his hands, Steel cut the engine. 

"There we are," he said. "Three minutes in hand. Assuming the other disturbance hasn't moved, it's in that sandpit." 

"Bunker." 

There was a pause. 

"Jet," Steel said patiently. "We've stopped. You don't have to keep holding on now." 

_Sorry._ Jet tried to release her grip, and found her shaking hands refused to obey her. _I think this body's developed a slight fault._

_Meaning?_

_I don't think I **can** let go._

Steel reached down and gently lifted her hands off him. 

"Is that better?" he asked. 

"Yes." Jet climbed off the pillion, her attention now focused on the task at hand. They'd need to finish their work before any of the humans plucked up the courage to investigate the two maniacs who'd just torn the twelfth green to shreds. "Let's get on with it." 

_Oh, and Steel?_ she added, a moment later. 

_What?_

_Do you think we could do that again some time?_


End file.
